


Finally my Saviour

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Emotional Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunions, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything, Drift and Ratchet have a lot to catch up on. (Post-EoS)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finally my Saviour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nopal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nopal/gifts), [extension_cord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/extension_cord/gifts).



> Frantically getting this done and posting it before EoS #4 comes out.
> 
> More like frantically getting this done because it was supposed to be for Valentine's and it's like...... really late now.
> 
> AND ALSO frantically getting this done since it was supposed to be a quick thing during commission work while I was having a weekend with my family, not a weeklong struggle.
> 
> Ugh.
> 
> That said, I'm really pleased with this gay af thing. Hope you all enjoy.

When Ratchet had dropped into his life again, Drift was too shocked to think -- or feel -- much about it. And then, like most things in his life, everything else just happened too quickly. And when it was over, well -- all they’d had the energy for was to collapse into Ratchet’s ship. With everything else tied up, Ratchet was still going on about taking him back, and Drift didn’t have the energy to argue at the moment. All he could do was follow the medic, allow himself to be drawn into the berth and into Ratchet’s arms.

Before they would never. Too much between them and neither of them making the first move. 

Before. And now Ratchet wanted him to come back, had come all the way out here in order to bring him back to the _Lost Light._

Drift’s spark clenched with more emotions than he cared to untangle. For now, it was enough to push it away and turn his helm into Ratchet’s broad chestplate as he let recharge take him away.

++++

The shift of orbit and the thrum of unfamiliar engines woke Drift in no time. They’d only been out for a few hours, but it felt like he’d woken up in another era. It was dark and quiet and Drift almost felt lost for a moment until Ratchet sat up as well. The medic muttered something about checking as he staggered out of the modest quarters.

Drift followed, standing in the doorway as he watched Ratchet, framed in the bright lights of the navigation readouts. 

“Completed an orbit already,” Ratchet grunted. He turned his helm, glancing at Drift over his shoulder. “Should I loop it…?”

Drift remained quiet a moment. He knew what that was -- Ratchet giving him an out, telling him he could have several more hours to think. To decide.

But did he really need them?

The corners of his mouth quirked in a smile. “Take us home, Ratch. And come back to bed.”

Drift committed Ratchet’s look to memory: one of the few genuine smiles he’d seen on Ratchet.

++++

Drift wasn’t sure what woke him up this time. Auto-course correction, perhaps, or maybe he’d slept a full recharge cycle for once. Whatever it was, Drift simply rolled over, scooting closer to Ratchet. He pressed his face against the medic’s shoulder, sighing as he resettled his limbs, though he paused when he felt Ratchet shift underneath him. 

“You okay, kid?”

Drift lifted his helm at Ratchet’s gruff voice. “M’okay. Did I wake you?”

Ratchet grunted. “Was only dozing, anyway.”

Drift hummed. “... not bothering you like this, am I?” Fine time to ask, now that his frame was flush with Ratchet’s with Drift resting his chin on the medic’s chest. Yet Ratchet was quiet so long that Drift was sure he’d offended in some way -- until Ratchet cupped his chin and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

Drift gasped softly, but he didn’t resist -- he all but melted into the touch and gazed at Ratchet in wonder when the mech pulled back. “No,” he finally replied.

Drift chuckled, a little grin on his lips. “I -- were you… I mean, have you -- ?”

Ratchet rolled his optics and pressed his fingers to Drift’s lips, stilling his speech. “Let’s not overthink this, huh, kid?”

Drift hummed. “Alright,” he murmured. And then, a devious glint in his optics, he sucked Ratchet’s fingertips into his mouth. The medic’s gasp was reward enough, and Drift purred at the languid heat stirred between them. Not overthinking didn’t mean rushing, either, something Drift had often been guilty of in interfacing. But with Ratchet… he’d wanted this for so long it seemed wrong to rush in any sense.

He pulled his mouth away from Ratchet’s fingers only to kiss him again. Slow and sweet and intimate -- everything he’d ever imagined. (And funny, wasn’t it, that he’d imagined small, tender moments like this more often than some lewd fantasies?) Drift didn’t want it to end, kept re-engaging it even as his hands roamed over Ratchet’s frame, tracing the flat angles, his fingers dancing into gaps of armor. 

“Drift -- ” the medic choked out against his lips. Drift grinned.

“Mm, yes?” he murmured. His optics peered up at Ratchet, bright and close, at the same instant his hand began teasing over the medic’s interface panels. Ratchet tensed beneath him in the best of ways, his EM field a hot flare licking against his own.

“Frag,” Ratchet grunted, lifting his hips into Drift’s touch.

Drift purred. Clearly Ratchet was in no hurry either, with the way he was letting Drift just touch and tease over his panels without opening them. And even when Ratchet did let them open, Drift’s touches remained feather light, circling around his spike housing before dipping down and rubbing over the medic’s anterior node. The medic cycled a soft sigh, and Drift felt his ventilations syncing to Ratchet’s as he laid astride the mech, his fingers gently tracing the lips of the valve that had been opened to him. 

“Drift…” Ratchet murmured again. 

Their gazes met, need thick and unspoken between them, charge crackling between their plating. Drift watched Ratchet’s face hungrily as he pushed a digit into Ratchet’s slick valve; the medic’s lips trembled a little, and Drift smirked as he probed his finger along the mesh, seeking out charge-primed nodes. It seemed a challenge to get a sound of pleasure out of Ratchet, but he managed it -- the softest moan as he stroked over one particular node in Ratchet’s valve and his thumb gently flicking that sensitive anterior node. It was enough, though -- Drift’s desire suddenly revved with his engine. 

Apparently that translated through their fields, too, by the way Ratchet’s engine rumbled in response. Drift groaned. Ratchet’s name, hot and needy, got swallowed up by their kiss, and it was much more urgent than before. He pumped two fingers into Ratchet’s valve, revelling in the medic moaning again and rocking his hips to meet the touch. Frag, Ratchet was just too incredible -- his panels were pinging him already, requesting to open.

Suddenly, Drift pulled back from the kiss, gazing down at Ratchet. His hand simply rested on the medic’s valve, fingers already coated in lubricant, as his vents panted. “Ratchet, I…”

The medic’s optic ridges drew together. “You okay?” he checked. “What’s wrong?”

Drift simply looked lost, his optics pleading, plating trembling as he seemed to be holding back his desire with physical force. “I… I didn’t want to rush this,” he said. “I always rush this and I don’t -- not with you…”

Ratchet just seemed to watch him for a long moment, until finally he shook his helm. “You wanna go slow, kid, that’s fine,” he said. “We got a long ride back. And then…” Ratchet didn’t finish that sentence, but he didn’t need to. Drift didn’t know what was waiting for them to sort out when they got back, either. But if it was as easy to navigate as falling into the berth had been, they’d be fine. Drift was sure of it.

With a smile, Drift shifted his weight, throwing one curvaceous leg over Ratchet’s frame and sitting astraddle the medic. Now he had even more of Ratchet’s attention, and the fact that he inspired the hunger in Ratchet’s gaze had him wanting to pop his panels again. Once more, he denied the request ping.

What he did do was rock his hips, his pelvic plating grinding lightly against Ratchet’s, maddeningly right above his interface array. Ratchet grunted, his hands resting on Drift’s waist and squeezing the plating gently. Drift hummed lowly, his engine revving again. “Want you,” he murmured.

“I can see that,” Ratchet replied, his voice strained. Drift chuckled, a full-frame shudder going through him as Ratchet squeezed at his plating again -- he could feel it too: a steady drip of lubricant trickling from behind his valve panel, splattering hot on to Ratchet’s plating. 

Dirty little jokes about how quick and hot speedsters ran were honestly not far from the truth. But if anyone was prepared for that, Drift was sure that it was Ratchet. He ground his hips again, drawing a gasp from them both. Ratchet revved his own engine, making Drift moan again as the vibrations rolled up his thighs. The heat of the medic’s pressurized spike almost right against his aft was just too much. 

“Ratchet…” Drift couldn’t hold back anymore. He released his panels, trembling as lubricant slicked his inner thighs and made even more of a mess on Ratchet’s pelvic plating. He could hear the medic rumble beneath him, and Drift moaned again as one of the medic’s hands moved from his waist to palm his extending spike. The swordsmech’s hips jerked a little, seeking more pressure, but Ratchet kept it light. “C’mon…”

Ratchet rumbled again, his optics obviously drinking in the sight of the swordsmech undulating above him. He squeezed Drift’s spike lightly, vocals rough when he spoke, “What d’you want?”

Groaning, Drift rocked his hips in a maddening circle, grinding his open valve on Ratchet’s plating and then thrusting his spike into the waiting hand. He did that a few more times, his vocalizer struggling to online. “Wanna ride your spike,” he murmured. Dirty talk wasn’t foreign to Drift by any means, but something about the admission made his plating flush with more than simple arousal.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the flare of Ratchet’s field against his own, drowning out his brief spot of embarrassment and bathing him in heat and desire. Incredible, how Ratchet could simply rob his intakes of air.

Those skilled medic hands grasped his hips and Drift let out a sound of pure desire, which melted into a moan as Ratchet settled him over his spike, holding him there. Leaving it all up to Drift -- again. Drift wiggled his hips a little, rubbing the head of Ratchet’s spike through his valve’s folds, teasing around his entrance. He took the trembling in Ratchet’s fingertips as a little victory, but Drift couldn’t bear to tease anymore and let his weight sink down.

A moan, loud and unabashed, slipped from Drift’s lips as Ratchet’s spike slowly filled his valve, until it was deep within him, their arrays pressed together, his calipers snug around its girth. Their gazes locked once more as Drift stayed a moment, letting his mesh fully adjust. 

Ratchet moved a hand to his spike again, just to thumb over its tip, but it felt like enough to drive Drift out of his processors. “ _Ratchet_ \-- ” he choked out.

The medic grinned up at him, his optics dim but full of mischief and lust and other things Drift didn’t have the capacity to puzzle apart. He bucked his own hips, making Drift gasp at the shallow thrust and squeeze around Ratchet’s spike again. “Thought you were gonna ride,” he rumbled, arousal making his voice a rasp.

Scrap. “And they say _I’m_ the impatient one,” Drift retorted. 

“Ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Drift snorted, but he finally began moving his hips, shallowly at first, but with Ratchet’s hand on his spike, it didn’t take long for him to get desperate. At first he simply traced over every single ridge, thumbing the head of it once and a while; as Drift’s motions picked up, he wrapped his hand around it instead, pumping in time with the way Drift bounced on his spike. It was much like before -- Drift rocking up into Ratchet’s hand on his spike, grinding his hips back down, over and over in a maddening rhythm. 

And if Drift hadn’t thought he could be more energetic, once Ratchet’s spike began hitting the topmost nodes in his valve… _true_ desperation showed in his motions, the twitch of his plating, the frantic flare in his field. “Ratchet -- ” he gasped out.

“Yes, come on,” Ratchet encouraged. Drift could hear the breathless quality in Ratchet’s own voice, feel the more erratic thrusts up into his valve, their EM fields buzzing and crackling bright between them, until the charge snapped. Drift shouted in overload, sounding like sheer joy as he felt the heat thunder to a roar in his frame. 

Drift didn’t quite slump, but there definitely seemed to be a sag in his frame as he let some peripheral systems reboot, cooling fans whining as he booted up his optics again and gazed down at Ratchet. Silvery transfluid had spilled from his spike all over Ratchet’s hand, some even landing on his chest, and he could feel the hot trickle of the medic’s own transfluid in his valve, sliding down the mesh and making an even bigger mess than the lubricants that Drift had already leaked all over Ratchet’s pelvic span.

If the lazy, satisfied look that Ratchet gave him was any clue, Drift would say that the medic cared just about as little as he did about that.

Wordlessly, Drift uncoupled them, settling down next to Ratchet, their messy lower halves tangling pleasantly. “Mm,” Rachet grunted, as he stroked a hand down the back of Drift’s helm. “Good.”

Drift smiled as he tucked his face at Ratchet’s neck. “Yeah,” he murmured. It was good. The interfacing, and everything else. 

++++

That first night wasn’t the only time they found themselves in an intimate tangle; Drift had plenty of things to store away in his new favorite memories -- aside from Ratchet’s smile, though he’d still only glimpsed the true one that once. The way his voice sounded when he got revved up, maybe. The exact color of his optics, up close. The way he said Drift’s name, in conversation, or in a needy murmur against his ear. The medic’s taste, and precisely the way it felt when the medic decided he wanted to _taste_ Drift.

It was all so much, he felt it overwhelming -- but if this was drowning, then Drift didn’t mind. When it involved waking up, warm in Ratchet’s embrace, no way he could complain. (And each time he did, he became ever more convinced that this was how he always wanted to wake up.)

Their journey verged on a week; Drift quickly grew accustomed to the new engine sounds, the little quirks of the shuttle’s inner workings, and recharged much more soundly for it. But a proximity alert startled them both awake, and countless vorns of ambushes had them both rolling out of the berth ready to go. 

Especially because the last time this alarm had awoken them, they’d been passing too close to an asteroid field for comfort. But this time, when they reached the monitors, it showed an achingly familiar shape.

The _Lost Light._

Drift felt his intakes stall and his spark clench. Ratchet glanced at him, rested a hand on the small of his back. “There she is,” he said softly.

“There she is,” Ratchet agreed.

Within no time, they would have Baster on the comms, negotiating shuttle docking procedures. Standard stuff so by the rules that Magnus would be proud. But for now, it was still quiet, and Drift appreciated the view of the ship, large and magnificent, in its backdrop of space and stars.

Oh, how he’d missed it. 

Ratchet moved his hand away, instead holding it up in offering. The comm line beeped for attention, but they ignored it, just for the moment. “Ready?” Ratchet said.

Drift gazed at his hand. Part of a pair he’d reclaimed for Ratchet, if accidentally. In that hand was an unwavering offer of support -- a continuation, perhaps, of the dreamlike time they’d spent together, on this simple shuttle.

The potential was astounding. The Lost Light in front of them, and Ratchet offering his hand. 

It was terrifying; before now, Drift would have run in the other direction as fast as he could. 

But now? Drift smiled, and grasped Ratchet’s hand tight. “Ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


End file.
